


Alexandra Not Alexandria

by GravityInReverse



Category: None - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityInReverse/pseuds/GravityInReverse
Summary: Small things I have written to keep myself from getting lost in my own head.





	1. Sin

It's a breath of fresh air, a temptation so sweet

The sin-like drug that helps me sleep

And after a long night of restless lone thoughts

A dose brings my eyes to flutter in loss

But at last I can forget -- those backstabbing liars

Who love to reprimand my only desire

They curse and spit on my only escape 

They call it a Sin, a tragic mistake

But finally I have closed my eyes

To rest in the prison of my mind

And of course I am a slave to my brain 

So once I've finally escaped the hate

That innocent Sin shines down bright

A taunting mix of wordly spite


	2. Beatific

If Earth is seen as beautiful --

Well then I must be blind

For all I see is filth --

And extremely dirty crime

But of course I cannot say --

That beauty is truly gone

For even though it's rare --

In places you could find --

An occasional beautiful thing would have an imprint on your mind

But be careful -- in the shadows -- Monsters do so creep

And once they sight a beatific thing--

Havoc they will wreak


	3. Pluck Me Before I Wither

Pluck me before I wither,

Or else I shall stain,

The petals will all wilt,

And I'll be washed away,

Pluck me before I wither,

For that's when I'm most Beautiful,

Leave me be and you shall see --

that roses can be ugly

The thorns may poke,

And you may bleed,

But to save me from eternity,

You must cut and cause me pain

And once again I'll be saved

Pluck me before I wither,

Even if I die,

For we can be together,

Until it is my time


	4. Broke

He broke her.

She broke him.

And the world broke them both.

So I ask -- if the world has the power to break a human soul --

How much damage could one word hold?

Like an earthquake -- the anger can boil up to rage

Like a dam -- their tears can break

And like the most radiant smile alive -- the sun can burn twice as bright

That soul that seems so ever blank -- can be covered like a canvas and paint

So if the world can break a human soul -- how much hurt can we all hold?


	5. Fiction ☆

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are four excerpts of mine that I absolutely adore and this is one of those four.

Alas this fascination goes wild, 

And all that's wasted wasn't worth my while,

I realize this with a painful thud -- 

That he isn't real -- perhaps never was

I find him in this soul I seek

But the expectations he could not meet,

And fiction is -- as always was --

Something fictional -- without a cause


	6. Counting The Stars

Space has always been the most captivating mystery to me.

Stranger than the Bermuda Triangle, more terrifying than the Placebo Effect and a bigger conspiracy than Area 51.

I have always wondered what entities were not here with me but beyond planet earth.

What was exploring the extraterrestrial ruin?

How many stars are in the universe and if you followed said stars: just how far would they take you?

Is the universe a never ending dimension?

And what exactly, if anything at all, is beyond the edge of space?

Maybe a void, and if so, what is beyond the void?

I question where these things, along with the origin of the universe, come from. Where exactly does everything end?

If another unknown soul is wondering space, I wonder when it will find us with its knowledge of the galaxy and whether it will share with us what is unknown.

But for now -- at least -- I will be waiting on planet Earth with my limited knowledge, counting the stars.


	7. Archangel

I found the match -- Struck the flame --

And what lit up was the Light and Her.

The pieces flew -- And with this I knew --

The ricochet was bound to hurt.

But the burns were worse -- For it built inside --

And no one was there to nurse.

The heat that spread -- And filled me with dread --

And killed me with a curse.

But now I could see -- And with this I deemed --

My soul a possessed foe.

It followed the Light -- For it was bright --

And lit what was unknown.

The feeling I had thought I lost --

When I learned to let go.

Traveled near -- Bringing fear --

And revealed the Light and Her.

With a brush of skin -- And a break so sweet --

She pulled her heart from his.

She left him broken -- His flesh wide open --

The eternal bleeding wound.

And once again -- The Light was dim --

But how could I let go?

I clenched my hand -- And despite the wind --

Howling with fervor; No!

I plunged that hand -- Searching deep within --

And extracted a perfect beat.

Ever with care -- So no to tear --

I handed it over -- It's bare.

Piece by piece the crimson stopped --

The Light began to glow --

My Light was back and I could see --

At least, I thought I'd known --

But now I see -- That I am not me --

I find my walls are weak.

The uncertain, certainty flushed my veins --

The venom dulled and poisoned.

The instinct -- Clearly there, coerced --

It is to be forgotten.

Reason fights -- It tugs and screams --

It's crying warnings I knew.

But I am not blind -- It's in my mind --

This I already knew.

  
My vision is very clear -- Oh dear --

It's ugly what I perceive.

I am not her -- I cannot be --

I'm not the treasure he seeks.

I wasn't me -- But I was better you see --

For I experienced conviction.

It was beautiful -- Before grotesque --

And now I see its colors.

It's deranged -- A fake arranged --

It's true, he's good with theater.

His cracking mold -- Holds a truth to be told --

His words are lies to mold.

It's now a bribe -- To release what hides --

The darkest parts of you.

He takes your mask -- And reveals your cast --

He leaves you so detached.

And this I fear -- You allowed my dear --

And see? You are now weaker.

Defenseless and exposed --

Your armor stripped away.

Your walls now are gone -- Torn apart --

Away.

And now the pieces shattered --

He's learned to keep the shards.

For how can you move on --

When he's keeping all your parts?

I am not me -- But I'm not who I was --

For I would surely know.

The true hint of wicked deceit --

Is when tranquil begins to grow.

You beckoned me through the flame;

What happens if I save you?

I wanted to locate you --

To say I'd save you too.

But, as I said -- Like the wicked dead --

You were made for theater.

And you could spill sweet lies so innocently --

I'm surprised I didn't see sooner.

You could drag and blister me --

And do it so innocently.  
  


That in my head -- I thought instead --

The pain was growing sweeter.

And now I'm lost -- You've raised the flames -- 

I'm sweltering in the heat.

I'm trapped in here -- My darling, dear -- 

With nowhere else to go.

So, you've found her again -- And decided in the end --

You'd damn me to burn in pain.

You watch me claw and fight --

For something that's in vain.

I am not me -- I seem to be nobody --

I've burned down, bled out -- Crashed.

My lines are blurred -- And I can no longer stir --

For my skin tears from my body.

I finally see you -- For the light is gone --

You're darker than you seemed.

And let me note -- The light that stoked --

My slumbering curiosity.

Is glowing from those wings you keep --

The hider of all things.

And once I take a closer look --

I can finally see.

No wonder I became a fool --

Your luster hid your nature.

I know you now -- You condemn all sin --

I see -- The Archangel Gabriel.


	8. Serpentine

As a person my self preservation is strong. However, so is my opinion, always there on the tip of my tongue ready to lash out at anyone who opposes it.  These two instincts war with each other permanently; tugging and pulling at me as if I was drowning under an angry ocean intent on dragging me down until I have no choice but to dig deep down, find my inner strength and fight the tide to pull myself back up. All this while chasing a single answer; which instinct to follow.  I'm tempted to stay neutral, to allow the angry waves to sweep me away but to keep my head afloat as it does. My opinion must be shared. My image must stay quintessential.

These factors boggle me; fear is real and it comes in the biggest form when I feel as if I may be cast aside. I despise bowing to another's will, to show weakness, but I must stay in good graces at the expense of my feelings, at the expense of my self-worth. I must not let go of any connection I can maintain, I must have strings in which to pull.  The puppet show must be by my mastery, they must wield my every whim.  But what happens when the strings tangle and I'm tied by loyalty to those I seek to obtain? 

What happens when my tongue speaks to defend two people of the same enemy?  What happens when I must cut loose those strings at which I desperately hold on too?  When at last I must choose a side?  I don't want to be noticed, I must keep to my own shadow, cast from the backs of others but I don't want to be discriminated from the spotlight, left alone. No credit to the serpentine who strikes against the odds. 

But I can feel it stalking up my back. The betrayal and judging eyes; the conspiracy and traitorous planning they whisper behind my back. They're accumulating; mounting my tediously built pinnacle, clawing up the side and dragging my pile of pawns down below their scrabbling feet with vicious sneers.  My eminence trembles, tilts and groans with threats of collapse, and I; oh I would go down with it. A snake in a den of lions. 

And oh yes; I put up a good fight but what can a few venomous bites do to the flesh-tearing hoard of teeth? The venom shall scourge a few but many will remain, roaring the success of their mutilation of a sharp tongued foe whose only mistake was trusting the wrong people.


	9. The Color of A Wilting Rose

The color of a wilting rose -- The tint of sweet wine.

A brittle flower that had been brought back to life

But with each second the petals were torn from their spot.

By the hands that chanted he loves me not --

And by which dropped the heart of a wilting rose into a pot

And within this pot was a brewing stew -- 

Made exactly for the one who knew -- 

That within that single petal rest the answer that lay:

A thousand words he couldn't say.


End file.
